Journey of an Apostle
by Untractable Evocation
Summary: The Spartans are the saviours of humanity, protectors of all we have left. The Spartan III's, unlike their predecessors, are numerous and invisible, silent, yet deadly. And disposable. But, on a subjugated Earth, can only one of them save us all?
1. Sierra 257

**Author's Notes:**

Well, here it is, my first work, the big kahuna… It's a Halo fanfiction, and if you don't like it, I make no apologies. And if you do like it, be glad that the Halo franchise belongs to Bungie and Microsoft, or I would be charging you for every second of enjoyment that you get from this.

And, I'd be stinking rich.

I rated this story MA 15 because of the content. There will be blood, guts, horror, violence, death, language, nudity, and heavy sexual references, and by this, I mean everything short of actual intercourse (this will be implied, in a very succinct manner). I'm an author, not a smut peddler. So, if that is your sort of thing, I suggest you go elsewhere.

* * *

"Name, soldier?" A voice demanded from behind a sealed blast door, as thick and tarnished as the Titanium-A alloy that made it so inpenetrable.

The Covenant had torn through the area recently, obliterating all they saw, and the bastards could still be outside for all that Brigadier Zenglehart knew. He wasn't letting anyone in without verbal, visual, password, and retinal identification. Those Bravo Kilo murderers weren't getting in, not with wounded and a limited supply of ammunition.

"This is Matthias-257, requesting entry." He bought a hand over his visor, a weary gesture. Such a show of emotion was unusual for a Spartan. It was a bad habit, one that made it easy for him to be differentiated from his brothers and sisters. Not that it was hard to do so already. Unlike the others, proudly, foolishly, wearing their inferior SPI armour to their deaths, he had chosen to… requisition, grave robbing was such an ugly term, the MJOLNIR armour of one of his predecessors.

A mighty Spartan II, killed by the Loyalists. They weren't meant to die, they couldn't die. They were all a lie. Propaganda, fallacies. Spartans never died. The truth was that they weren't allowed to. Their bodies rotted, burnt, stagnated. But their memories remained, abused by the military, allowed never to rest. For that was their purpose.

Matthias had no illusions about his purpose, knew perfectly what it was. Unlike Spartan II's, he was disposable, meant to die in the name of mankind. This purpose suited him perfectly. One aspect of it, anyway. He would fight to protect his fellow man, he would pull apart anything that stood in his way, and he was more than willing to die to save just one person. But he wasn't going to throw his life away for nothing.

He had friends, unlike the others, friends outside of the Spartan program. Yes, the Spartans were the heroes, the last chance that mankind had of defeating the Covenant, but he knew that they were freaks, revered and despised in equal measure. They were made to be heroes, not born to be.

And this hero was starting to lose his patience.

"A Spartan? Santa must have lost his naughty list or something, because Christmas is coming early this year… Come in, soldier." Zenglehart threw the switch on the other side of the door, after all identification procedures had been completed, and smiled. Perhaps there was hope, after all. That smile grew even wider as a United Nation Space Command Spartan walked through the door, fully armoured in MJOLNIR Mk IV Scout Armour, a Battle Rifle at the ready and a Sniper Rifle sealed magnetically to his back.

The smile that had grown so wide across his face evaporated entirely as twelve Elites, eleven wearing Assault armour, the other a Commando, followed the Spartan through.

He reeled back in horror, and hit an emergency switch on the wall behind him, before bringing his Magnum to bear. He had been betrayed, and by a Spartan, no less.

The sound of metal clanking against metal echoed down the hall as twelve Orbital Drop Shock Troopers, ODSTs, ran into the room, weapons at the ready. Matthias quickly assessed the situation. Twelve on thirteen. It would have been an even fight, had it not been man against monster. The biggest threats in the room were two of the ODSTs, one of whom was armed with a Rocket Launcher, and who stood as far away from the rest of the men as he could. The other held two Mauler shotguns.

Beneath his helmet, Matthias smiled; pillaging the corpses of those filthy apes. Human nature was still thriving, as the Earth was torn apart. Even so, however, the Elites would easily win this fight. Had Matthias wanted to fight the marines. No; as flawed as he and the rest of mankind were, they were alive, and he intended to keep it that way.

The Elite to the left of him gave him a quizzical glance. They had all known that there would be a misunderstanding, but this was one that could not be solved through violence. The pen, sometimes, was indeed mightier than the sword.

Matthias stepped forward, and spoke to the commanding officer; though there had been no salutes given, the ODSTs were all crowded around one person. Matthias knew that he, the one they all so eagerly protected, was Brigadier Zenglehart, the one he had come here to retrieve.

"Order your soldiers to lower their weapons. Had I wanted to kill you, you would have been dead long ago."

"And how would you have done that, traitor?" Zenglehart spoke, more of a statement than a question.

The Spartan was of course, right, he realised almost instantly. Had he betrayed them to the Elites, they would merely have activated their camouflage and torn the soldiers apart unnoticed. Why then, had they not?

Matthias smiled again, quite well aware that no one could see him doing so. He explained himself, carefully.

"Circumstances change, Brigadier, and with them, allegiances. The Elites are with us now; you can probably tell because you aren't short a head." The Spartan gestured to the Elites, each of whom had an energy sword at their hips.

One of the Elites wearing Assault Armour stepped forward and balled his right hand into a fist. "The Covenant is but a lie, human, and we are ashamed that it took us so long to see it as such. The Brutes have betrayed us at the insistence of the Prophets; they slaughter our brothers wherever they do get the chance, all the while listening blindly to empty promises of salvation, when all that awaits them is ruin."

Zenglehart raised his right eyebrow. The Elites, refuting the Covenant? Not even at the barrel of a rifle would they do so, unless…

"I see, Spartan, that you have convinced the Elites to tread the true road to salvation." He wasn't entirely convinced of his own words, but it was all the explanation he could think up.

"They found that out themselves, sir. The Arbiter is a wise leader, for it was he who led the Elites down their new path."

Now Zenglehart knew, for once, what had happened. This Arbiter, apparently a disgraced Elite who wore strange ceremonial armour, had joined the Master Chief in his fight against the Covenant. If he was their leader, then the Elites would follow him to hell and back.

"Well," he signalled; the ODSTs lowered their weapons immediately. "What the hell are you doing here, soldier? You should meet up with the fleet; get yourself ready for the assault on the ship that that bastard Prophet is cowering in." The Brigadier leant against the wall and stroked his Magnum gently; he had kept this weapon for seventeen years, ever since it had first drawn Covenant blood. It was his constant companion.

He smiled as an Elite gave him a confused glance. These humans treated tools as though they were live animals… perhaps that it why, so often, they survived even the most brutal conditions.

Matthias cocked his head before taking a step towards the marines. "Sir, we've come to retrieve you; I am correct in believing that you are the shipmaster of the UNSC _Aurora Storm_?" He questioned, not quite sure whether his information was correct.

"Yes, son, indeed I am," Brigadier Zenglehart sighed wearily, before turning to look at his ODSTs. "I suppose you have bad news of some sort for me?"

"Yes sir… the Covenant had bad info the last time they attacked. They thought they were merely to disable your Longswords and Pelicans to prevent you from providing air support; seems your pilots have been giving the Bravo Kilos some trouble with their Scarabs." Matthias paused as he saw the Brigadier smile.

He should be happy; his crazy bastard pilots had taken down two Scarabs alone and dropped two squads of ODSTs onto another. ONI tech was already dissecting it, and it looked like the new technology they had found within would have many applications, all of them very useful.

"The problem is, sir, now the Bravo Kilos know who, and more importantly, where you are. I need to get you back to your ship, before they get you into their kitchen. I have orders from the top, so don't think you can tell me otherwise."

"I appreciate the concern, son," Zenglehart looked back towards the Spartan. "But I am not prepared to leave my men here to die at the hands of those bloodthirsty apes." He spoke with cold finality in his voice.

"You great fatheaded Jackass! Did you think that UNSC High Command would really leave a total of two-hundred and thirty-one valuable men and women behind? Even if most are wounded, they will soon be on their feet, with a little treatment." Another voice chastised. The Brigadier turned, to see a holographic image sitting on the shoulder of the Spartan's MJOLNIR armour. An AI.

"Shut up, Loki!" Matthias warned, and the AI turned to face him, his sleek, silken hair swaying as he did.

"You know what, Matthias? You suck. I hack into the defence mainframe for a little fun, and you fly right off the bat. If they didn't want to be hacked, they should've made their defence tighter. The irony."

Just as the AI made his little declaration, a blast from a beam rifle flew through the doorway and cut through the energy shield of one of the Elites, who promptly rolled into cover while this protection regenerated.

The Elites activated their active camouflage and faded from view, though their movement still was still visible on the motion tracker. Outside the door, perhaps a hundred meters away, there was a Jackal, made all the more visible by its glowing telescopic eyepiece.

Matthias turned faster than the eye could see, pulled out his sniper rifle, and lined up his target. Under a second passed, then he applied pressure to the trigger. A loud crack echoed down the hall. In the distance, the Jackal's head exploded, throwing ribbons of brain material over a stunted tree like some sort of macabre Christmas offering.

"Excellent shot, human," The commando commended, impressed. "Why we never recognised the talent of your species before now is monument to our foolishness.

"Your applause is noted, 'Xanthtuum." The Spartan acknowledged the praise with a nod, turned to the Brigadier, who sighed.

"You let those bastards have even one of my men without reason, and it'll be your head."

"I wouldn't expect anything less, sir." A Phantom Dropship appeared out of nowhere, a giant beetle hanging in the sun, carapace glinting malevolently, purple fire burning as its plasma turrets blazed. Another Phantom, this one sporting the purple colouration of a Loyalist ship, flared azure, brighter than the sky itself, then exploded, wreckage hailing down upon a wrecked Warthog.

Brigadier Zenglehart left then, escorted from the bunker and into the dropship by six ODSTs and three of the Elites. Those who chose to remain spread their mandibles, though, like the smile hidden behind Matthias helmet, this was not visible to any observer, and roared defiantly as the dropship flew into the atmosphere.

They were going to tear those mongrel apes limb from limb.

Then, true happiness. The smile across the Spartan's face grew even wider; He had just found a Model 6 Grindell/Galilean Nonlinear Rifle, a Spartan Laser, hooked to a wall charger. Behind him, Loki sealed the door shut, a Seraph fighter taking a strafing run towards the bunker.

But even sixty centimetres of Titanium-A reinforced cement wouldn't hold out forever. He ran down the passage and into an elevator, followed by the remaining Elites and ODSTs. One of the men, Higgins, according to the service tag printed across his pauldrons, pressed the basement key as the bunker shook with the blast of the first plasma charge. The elevator sped towards the bottom floor of the bunker at an alarming speed, the roof collapsing above them.

Higgins also had O negative blood. Matthias noted that, in case there was ever any need of a transfusion.

There was a thud; they had arrived at the bottom floor just in time to see a Brute send a female marine flying with a punch. She was still alive, surprisingly she was nearly unharmed, but still, Matthias was not amused.

"Didn't your mother teach you how to treat women properly?" He taunted. The Brute turned, and roared, strings of vile yellow saliva flying from its mouth and onto his visor.

One of the ODSTs took this opportunity to run out and drape the woman over his shoulder.

"Man, she's hot. Feel those curves!" He exclaimed as he felt her breasts pressed against the side of his face.

"I'm alive, you jackass!" She yelled indignantly before groaning in pain. She was physically unharmed, but would hurt for a while, nonetheless. Matthias kicked himself for forgetting that normal humans were much less resistant to pain than he was.

"Yes, but not for long, scum." The Brute turned slightly, and snarled angrily as Matthias greeted him with a burst from his battle rifle. The three-round report cut through his power armour and left a wound in his chest. However, if the Brute was injured, he wasn't showing it. "Pathetic human, even with your armour, I will tear you apart." He growled defiantly, his cruel face distorted with what appeared to be a smile. Then, nine energy swords appeared from the air before him, each blade emitting a static hiss as it took form.

The smile disappeared.

"Come on," Smiled Matthias. "Let's turn that frown upside down…"

"…Or, more accurately, that vile head." 'Xanthtuum added as he drew another energy sword with his left hand. The Brute reached for his spiker carbine, but was far too slow; the Elite lunged forwards and cut off both legs with one sword before stabbing him through the heart with the other.

Letting a grunt of contempt pass his mandibles, he leant forward and grabbed the dying creature around the throat.

The Brute groaned in pain as the Commando pulled it towards him, his Energy Sword sliding deeper into its chest for every centimetre that it moved forward.

"Is it not," 'Xanthtuum spat into the simian monsters face, "such a lovely day to face extinction?"

* * *

My mind presents...

**Journey of an Apostle**

A _Halo _story

Written by Kieren P. McGovern (AKA Untractable Evocation, or Loki, or Fedaykin Guard).

With thanks to Corey W. Smith (Cylor), The Phiend, and Shawn L. Phillips for their help.

The Halo universe and all characters depicted therein, apart from those of my own creation, are the intellectual property of Bungie Studios, with special license to Microsoft. The (original) characters and situations depicted within this fanfiction are MY intellectual property, and use of these characters without my expressed permission will result in serious action.


	2. Eagle's Peak

**Author's Notes: **Chapter two. Yeah. Blood.

I do warn you that this chapter contains a rather graphic scene revolving around torture, and another revolving around disembowelment.

So, might want to put off lunch for a while.

* * *

For a moment, the Brute was silent as he lay, considering the question that 'Xanthtuum had given him. Then, he smiled evilly, spitting a vile string of blood onto the Elite's helmet. The viscous substance slowly oozed downwards, marring the pristine silver and cyan finish of the ornate armour.

'Xanthtuum raised his hand, as though to strike the beast, then hesitated. With a bass growl, he wrenched his Energy Sword free of his foe's chest cavity.The elegant blade slid away with little effort, producing a sound nauseatingly similar to that made by a wet plunger. There was a slight hiss as the blood of the slain Brute cooked upon the blade. A loathsome smell, similar to that of burning flesh, wafted up from the corpse, clogging the air filters on Matthias's helmet. One of the ODSTs took this as the cue to try on his own brand of comedy.

"Mmm-mmm, smell that tenderloin. Sargeant Stacker's going to kick himself for missing this."

The other ODSTs, and a few of the rougher marines, chuckled, but 'Xanthtuum ignored the man entirely. He grunted, then turned to Matthias."We have been baited. We must leave immediately, lest the Brutes succeed in their ploy." He spoke bitterly, as though each of his own words tasted of the very Brute that lay before him. Given the foul scent that now hung about the air, Matthias wouldn't have been surprised if they did.

"Agreed," the Spartan knelt and pillaged the corpse of the Brute. He was well rewarded for his efforts, quickly finding two Spike grenades and a Bubble Shield. These would certainly come in handy. Satisfied, he got to his feet and turned towards the ODST who had previously scooped up his female comrade. The soldier looked up and noticed the armoured behemoth staring at him. Not wanting annoy someone who was, for all intents and purposes, a walking tank, he quickly but gently placed the woman on the floor.

"Are you seriously injured?" Matthias questioned, his voice calm, yet serious. He knelt before the woman, before running his right hand over her body. The other marines shifted uncomfortably as they stood, unaware that he not enjoying what he felt, unlike they would have, but was instead using scanners built into his armour to search for signs of life-threatening injury.

"Ah…," the marine grunted, before sitting up. She reeled, and for a moment he thought she would fall back. Soon enough, however, she regained her balance and extended her arm towards the Spartan, who hesitated momentarily before helping her up. "I'm fine. Just pissed off, is all."

"Well, now is the time to vent." Matthias had just noticed red spots on his motion tracker.

Green spots were safe. Green spots meant other UNSC personal with functional neural implants. Red dots, on the other hand, meant anything without a neural implant, or those who had fallen host to the Flood, an abomination he hoped never to encounter again in his lifetime.

He reloaded his battle rifle, then jammed it into the woman's hands. She took up position behind a cement column, weapon at the ready. Matthias crouched, SMG in hand, before motioning to the closes Elite. The sleek warrior nodded, quickly handed him two Plasma grenades, and slunk away to take up position.

Anticipation built up within him as the red dots on his motion tracker grew closer and more numerous, before…

"Cockroaches, coming in up high; Let's have us a fry up!" A marine called just before a deadly hail of plasma bolts and purple crystals rained down upon the group. Matthias ducked into cover, taking with him a marine who already had a dangerous number of needler quills sticking out of his leg, a testament to the danger posed by the insectoid warriors.

The soldier roared with pain as the Spartan tore a handful of the sickly purple crystals out of his calf, but still nodded gratefully. He had seen what happened when more than seven of those little bastards got in you, and it wasn't pretty.Matthias primed a Plasma grenade, then ducked out of cover just long enough to tag a passing Drone with the blue ball of explosive fury. The insect, complete unaware that anything was wrong, flew back into the midst of its comrades for safely whilst it reloaded.

Time seemed to stand still as the other beetles noticed the unwanted gift they had received. There was a frenzied scramble for shelter, just before the grenade exploded in a shower of ionised particles.All but two of the drones were torn to shreds by the blast, these stragglers were knocked out of the air by another explosion, this one caused by an ODST who had paused to collect a needler from one of the fallen insects.

Shreds of raw flesh fluttered to the ground, an eerie, ghastly tickertape parade in honour of their victory. A nearby marine whooped loudly as he found the dismembered arm of what had once been a drone.

"Whoo-boy, I've got me a backscratcher"

"Put it down you idiot. Don't you know those things are cursed?" An ODST with a radio pack slapped the limb out of his hand.

Comedy king took the opportunity to crack another joke.

"Help, he's been disarmed!"

Matthias sighed wearily, a brief respite before he addressed his men firmly. Fun was fine, but they were beginning to lose focus.

"I want a casualty report." He checked his motion tracker again, to make sure that there weren't more Drones hiding in the air vents. He was answered by the woman he had given his Battle Rifle to.

"Two Marines with broken limbs, and one of your Elites has lost his gauntlet." She pointed to a nearby Assault trooper, who was gingerly, but vainly, trying to slip a broken piece of armour back onto his forearm."Who are you anyway, soldier?" Matthias queried, before scavenging a needler and ammunition from the corpses of nearby Drones. He hoped that his men would do the same. Lead by example.

"Corporal Anya Jamieson, sir." She answered, withholding her salute. Matthias nodded. After all, he was the commanding officer, and as such would have been a prime target for snipers.

If the red colouration of his pauldrons didn't give him away as a medic, that is.

"Where are the others? What is the most direct route to their position?" He asked again. This time, the ODST with the radio pack stepped forwards, a gaunt, tired-looking face visible beneath his broken visor."The others are sealed off in the detainment centre; it's got thick skin and blast doors, so there isn't anything short of a plasma torpedo that's going to get in. Even if a Baby-Kong did get in there, we've got three chain guns, a gauss 'Hog and a flamethrower that say he's going to get turned into a sunburnt pincushion real quick. As for the most direct way there, that'd be through the-"

"Armoury." Matthias finished the communication officer's sentence for him as Loki uploaded the schematics of the outpost onto his HUD."Correct. We refill on the way there, then once we get them, we go to the Motor Pool; there's still seven Mongooses, three chain gun 'Hogs and two carrier variants, along with a whole bunch of trucks. We load the injured into them, we get a convoy going through the part of the Tsavo Highway that runs under here, and then we get to the Hanger Bay. There aren't going to be any Bravo Kilo's down there, heck, they've got the Tsavo shut down tighter than we've got this place. There's a small fleet locked down in there too, I'm talking four Pelicans, an Albatross, and five Hornets. Huh, what's-"

"What is it?" The Spartan interrupted.

"There are still ten Longswords down there. It's basically a goldmine; if we can get there, we'll have all the transport and support we need to get every man, woman and," he focused momentarily on a nearby Elite, "lizard, out of this place with every vehicle we've got, and still have room for souvenirs." He looked to Matthias, who nodded, before adding his own stipulation.

"We clean out the armory before we go, and we take the dead with us."

"Sorry sir, can't do that. Bravo Kilo's got hungry." This man, an ODST, was struggling to hold back tears, and Matthias felt raw, festering hatred jolt through him. These petulant monkeys made him so sick. He hated them as much as he hated her. No. She would always have a place in the deepest bowels of Hell."We cut these bastards a new hole, and then we drive our motorcade right through on through it. Once we get to the Hanger Bay, we set the place to go up, and then we get out of here. We meet up with USNC Chrono Mirage, Aurora Storm or Forward Unto Dawn, and we get access to a hospital. Then we prepare for what comes next. Op- Our Victory."

Matthias kicked himself then, and made a mental note to keep his emotions under control. He had nearly let them get the better of him, had nearly let all of the Office of Naval Intelligence's careful preparation get flushed down the toilet.Lord Hood and Commander Keyes were the only people outside of ONI who knew about Operation Sonic Razor, and that was the way it would stay. Until the time was right.

"Alright marines, keep your eyes open, and let's move out." Matthias reloaded his Battle Rifle, then made his way over to a damaged door. After Loki verified that it led to the Armoury access hall, he knocked it over with a brutal punch that would have killed any person, even a Brute with power armour.Once he had checked his motion tracker and performed a quick visual examination, Matthias was satisfied that the area was free of hostiles; he gestured once, and his soldiers, human and Elite, followed him into the hallway, weapons at the ready.

There was no sudden onslaught of murderous Brutes, so they advanced a further fifty meters up the hall, stopping immediately as they picked up motion.Matthias peeked around the corner, and spotted a Brute Chieftain interrogating a marine, using a spiker carbine's wickedly cruel blades as a form of persuasion. The man's face was already badly cut and bleeding, but he was still resisting his torture valiantly.

"Tell me," the Brute grabbed the man by the throat "where is the demon?" The marine didn't respond, drawing the ire of the monstrous creature. "Tell me, you pathetic sack of meat! Or I will feast on your entrails." The last sentence was drawn out, as though the Brute relished every one of its own words. The marine wheezed heavily, then stared at his captor through the bloody fog that his vision had become.

"I don't know who the demon is, or why you want him. But leave your number, and if I see him, I'll be sure to call."Matthias noted the defiant look on the face of the soldier. He had seen that look countless times before, on the faces of thousands of marines, right before they had died. So apparently, had the Brute. He grunted angrily, then turned away from his stricken prey."Foolish creature, I know the demon is here; he murdered my pack-mate outside this very room! Had you told me where he hides, your death would have been painless. But now…" Another two Brutes walked into view, carrying a Gravity Hammer. They bowed before their superior, a token of respect necessary to ensure he didn't deck them with it, before placing the weapon into his hands.

The Chieftain raised his arms slowly, savoring each moment, knowing that soon this worthless human would be begging for death. And he would be only too happy to oblige, once the marine had given him what he wanted.

"Matthias; Do something…" Loki whispered desperately. Despite appearances, this AI had once been human, or part of one. And he didn't like seeing other people get hurt.But Matthias was doing something, something dangerous, unexpected. Unwanted. The illegal augmentation drugs that Kurt-051 had injected into him and every other member of Gamma company had changed them, and not just into Spartans.

Under extremely stressful battlefield conditions, something took a hold of them, as it was doing to him right now.

He could feel it coming on, but he was powerless to hold it back. His pupils dilated, lights danced before his eyes, blood vessels expanded, hair stood on end and he began to sweat profusely, his heart racing at a speed which was quickly becoming unsafe. He lunged around the corner, sprinting toward the Brutes, an arrow on the wind. He was upon them before the Chieftain had even begun to bring his Gravity Hammer down on the marine. One of the bodyguards spotted him, barked a warning. The Chieftain adjusted his swing, so he would hit the Spartan instead.

It would make a fine trophy.

But unlike a berserking Brute, Gamma Company Spartans experiencing what Loki called a Chrysanthemum Attack remained as agile as they normally were – Matthias rolled over the hammer just before it made contact with his spine, then wrenched it from the Chieftain's grasp. Time stood still as he swung about, then drove the handle of the weapon – normally blunt, but in this case, sharpen - straight through the heart of the closest bodyguard.

The Chieftain made a grab for him, but Matthias simply slid between his legs, although not before taking the time to jam a Spike Grenade into the Alpha Male's face.

As it detonated, he kicked off the wall and catapulted over the Chieftain's body, into the chest of the final bodyguard, riding him into the ground.The Brute's shoulder blades disintegrated with an excruciating _snap_, crushed by the huge weight of the MJOLNIR armour that Matthias wore. A single, bone-crunching blow to the head killed the Brute instantly, but he didn't stop there. He couldn't, he didn't want to.

Blood.

That was what they had taken, and that was what they owed him.

The Spartan clasped his hands together and bought them down on the creature's chest, again and again and again, until, finally, its ribs gave way and caved in, blood splattering his visor as a pair of alien lungs burst with a loud pop.

Handfuls of organs were torn from the Brute, flung over the roof supports like Halloween tinsel.

Then when there was nothing left to grab, he jammed his fingers into its eye sockets and pulled with all his might. He was rewarded when, with a ghoulish slurp, he succeeded in crushing its skull, brain matter and sticky fluid pouring out of where a cruel face had once been.Someone behind Matthias vomited. The sound of acidic fluid hitting the floor, so similar to one of the tranquil waterfalls back on Onyx, bought him back to his senses. Or perhaps it was the cocktail of anti-psychosis drugs that Loki had just released into his air supply.

"Oh. My. God…" Anya choked in disgust as Matthias rose warily, chunks of what had once been a spleen or a liver, even a sliver of flayed skin, sliding off his energy shields. She wanted the Brutes to die just as much as the Elites did, and just as painfully, too.

But what had just happened… she had never, ever seen a human being do anything so revoltingly animalistic. This Spartan was… like one of them.Even the wise-guy ODST couldn't find a joke to lighten the mood. Matthias didn't even try to explain himself; he knew they wouldn't understand what had happened, that it wasn't really him who had eviscerated the Brute. Instead, he chose to focus his attention on the marine the Chieftain had been torturing. A couple of squirts of bio-foam, a few sterile dressings and some morphine were all it took to get him back on his feet, although the Spartan doubted he could fight at all. He stood, shoulders bowed, then turned back to his men.

None of the marines met his eyes, so disgusted were they. Even the Elites, who had personally torn through thousands in their lifetimes, were shocked. They had known that humans were strong and brave and resilient, but had never had any idea that they were capable of this… 'Xanthtuum had seen the best of his troops vanquished by a single rank-and-file Brute, but this Spartan had ripped through a Chieftain and his bodyguards, in under seven seconds, no less.Elites trained their whole lives to achieve such power and skill; but at the same time 'Xanthtuum could tell that the MJOLNIR-clad warrior was ashamed of himself for showing such lack of control. But this could not be dwelt on. The battlefield was no place for meditation.

"Come," the Elite placed his hand on the Spartan's shoulder, "we must move on - should the Brutes catch us, their retribution will not bear description."

Matthias sighed softly, then checked his weapons. Still in good condition. A message from Loki appeared on his HUD.

**It's not your fault.**

"It never is." He responded tersely.

**I never was good with words. **

"What is it?"

**ONI just pinged me. **

**We need to get out, now. Loyalist cruiser, the Undying Passion, moving in on us, deploying it's weapons. We're going to get glassed.**

That was all that Loki needed to say to rouse Matthias's interest.

"How long?"

**At it's current speed, I'd say about an hour. We're going to need to move quickly.**

Matthias turned to the ODST with the radio pack; Lieutenant Anderton."We need to get out of here now. Abandon all caution, we're going for speed. Stay in cover where you can, and do not engage the enemy if they are unaware of your presence, unless you can be certain of a quick kill ."

'Xanthtuum took an immediate interest in this change of attitude. Their orders had been to bring back Brigadier Zenglehart, along with his men and any working equipment.

"Do not engage these vile beasts? What is the cause of this sudden bout of charity?"

"There's a Loyalist cruiser moving in on our position; the Undying Passion. We've got under an hour to get out of here before we get glassed." 

This statement got the attention of the Marines. It would take at least ten minutes to get into the detainment centre, and from there it would take at least thirty minutes to get into the hanger, and that was if they left the trucks at the motor pool - getting them down the elevator would take an extra forty minutes. But abandoning them would mean leaving at least a hundred and fifty people behind, something that the Spartan did not plan on.

"Loki, how wide is the Tsavo Highway as it passes beneath us?"

"Well, let's take a looksee, here" The AI drawled in a Kentucky accent. After several moments, a plan of the Tsavo highway appeared on Matthias's HUD. "We've got forty meters of height, forty in width, and exactly ten kilometres from here to the hanger. Wait, why did you want to know?" He enquired suspiciously."Do we have any pilots here?" Matthias asked Lieutenant Anderton.

"Uh, yes sir, about thirty, as a matter of fact; they got stuck here when Baby Kong decided to blow Hanger A." The ODST answered surreptitiously. "In fact, Private Jamieson and myself are both pilots."

"Good. We get your men, get the vehicles from the Motor Pool, then we take the elevator down onto the Tsavo-"

"Sir, I thought that was already the plan?" Anderton interrupted nervously. Every minute they wasted talking bought them a minute closer to being vaporised.Matthias ignored the interruption, continuing like nothing had happened.

"-Highway. Then we send six of your pilots ahead in the troop carriers, along with a bodyguard of four of your best troops. Once they get to the hanger bay they are to attach Type-17 payload extension trays onto each Pelican, and equip the Hornets with assault stands. Then, they bring them back to us."Anderson smiled and nodded; he was fast catching Matthias's drift. Type-17 trays extended the internal cargo capacity of a Pelican to a maximum of fifty persons, whilst assault stands bolted onto a Hornet's landing skids, providing extra firepower in the form of two chain-gun turrets, along with jump seats for seven people. They should be able to maneuver in the tunnel.

Heck, they would be able to rotate fully.

As a bonus, the aircraft would take no more than ten minutes to equip, and would shave twenty minutes from their trip; they would easily make it back to the hanger with enough time to transfer the most badly injured into the Albatross, which at least had life-support equipment.Matthias would also be able to load nuclear ordinance onto the Longswords, always a plus.

"Alright," Anderson raised his Battle Rifle above his head, "the Covenant came here to stop us from sending out air missions. But now, the tables have turned. We're going to fly an air mission right up Baby Kong's backside, and cut him a hole that he can't stuff banana into! Are you ready, marines?" For a second Matthias thought there would be silence, that what he had done before was still fresh in the minds of the gathered marines. But if there was one thing that these marines truly shared, then it was the desire for revenge; each and every man and woman present in the crowd raised their own weapons, simultaneously letting out a deafening roar.

"Hoo-rah!"

* * *

My mind presents...

**Journey of an Apostle**

A _Halo _story

Written by Kieren P. McGovern (AKA Untractable Evocation, or Loki, or Fedaykin Guard).

With thanks to Corey W. Smith (Cylor), The Phiend, and Shawn L. Phillips for their help.

The Halo universe and all characters depicted therein, apart from those of my own creation, are the intellectual property of Bungie Studios, with special license to Microsoft. The (original) characters and situations depicted within this fanfiction are MY intellectual property, and use of these characters without my expressed permission will result in serious action.


	3. Divine Intervention

Matthias shifted nervously, then re-checked the battery meter on his Spartan Laser for what must have been at least the tenth time in as many minutes. He was uncomfortable, and not because he was crouching on the assault stand of a Hornet, vulnerable to virtually any form of munitions the Covenant could throw at the poorly-armoured aircraft.

Spartans were used to war, they came face to face with death during every waking moment of their lives, and in their dreams, too. No, It was something else entirely that troubled him, something less obvious. It was his plan, his hastily formulated, shackled-together-at-the-last-minute plan, that had worked perfectly where it should not have.

He had made plenty of oversights, miscalculations, simple errors which should have, in any less-then-ideal situation, led to some sort of trouble.

But everything had gone smoothly, according to plan. It was so wrong. The ideal situation existed where it shouldn't. No situation was ever ideal, not even in straightforward training exercises. Still, no-one had been hurt, every single one of the vehicles that had been left behind was undamaged and fully fuelled. What he found most disconcerting however, was the fact that the remaining Covenant had shown little in the way of enthusiasm.

That certainly was disturbing; the fact that fanatically loyal Covenant troops, troops who would willingly be slaughtered in their hundreds for the Great Journey, had so quickly abandoned their posts, even when faced with a less than determined show of opposition.

The few Covenant troops that had remained, that is. Instead of hundreds of the best troops that could be mustered, they had come across less than fifty Grunts, five Brutes, and two Jackals.

There should have been Hunters; the base was a priority target, it had vital UNSC manoeuvres, documents and procedures loaded into the computer mainframe, and they hadn't deployed Hunters, not even after Loki had stopped them from downloading the precious data from the hard drive.

Loki himself was a prize worthy of any Covenant troops looking to earn a promotion; such a hugely powerful AI, with all of the most advanced UNSC encryption algorithms and decryption software, and they ignored him.

In the distance far behind them, there was a tremendous roar as Eagle base detonated, taking all of its secrets to the grave with it.

A miniature sun, a brilliant white sphere bursting through the very crust of the earth, consuming all that it touched. A shockwave cut through the air, shaking the Hornet as though it were nothing more than a leaf borne on the breeze. A marine fell from the assault stand, and would have fallen to his death, had Matthias not caught him at the last minute.

Lieutenant Anderton scolded the man for not paying more attention to his surroundings, then rapped on the bulletproof glass canopy of the cockpit once, before shouting to the pilot.

"How about we give these ladies a nice look at the fireball? Oughta wake them up a bit."

The pilot nodded once, and sure enough, the Hornet began to rotate so that everyone on board would be able to see the aftermath of the explosion, normally a magnificent orb of superheated radioactive particles. The Hornet swung around, and into view came a Pelican, drifting lazily through the air, truly akin to its avian namesake.

The rear hatch was open, a chain-gun turret just visible. The operator, a beautiful Hispanic woman with silky black hair and wonderful coffee-coloured skin, nodded to Matthias and winked at Anderton, who quickly began signing at the woman.

What is your service number?

Matthias smiled gently. Even now, his Lieutenant was romancing a woman, when they could be shot down at any moment. It was amazing how his personality could remain so… so human, even during this horrible war. He sometimes wished these men could see his face, that perhaps then they would realise that there was someone beneath the armour, that he wasn't simply a mindless, faceless killing machine, and that he actually cared about their lives. Like he cared about the lives of his fellow Spartans, the majority of whom were now dead.

It was a lie, what Kurt-051 and Chief Petty Officer Mendez had both told him, what she had told him. That Spartans never died.

He had believed that up until his first mission, when his friends, his brothers and sisters, had been massacred by the Covenant. Though they were fast, silent and deadly, that didn't amount to much when a single shot from a Carbine could kill you. Ten of them, wiped out by a single Hunter. Matthias had torn it to pieces, used its shield to cut it's blood brother in half, and then skewered an Elite with his own Energy Sword.

What he did, it never brought his friends back, or even make their sacrifice seem remotely worthwhile, not like he thought it would. Revenge was not so much sweet as it was bitter, just like the blood it was paid in.Sometimes Matthias wished he had just died, that he had never found the MJOLNIR armour he now wore from head to toe, that his Semi-Powered Infiltration armour hadn't miraculously stopped those Spiker rounds, that he could have died with his family, taking as many Mike Foxtrots as he could with him when he went.

But that was the strange, funny, stupid thing about life. Some people were meant to keep going on, to cling to life no matter how hopeless things became, and to claw their way back from the slavering jaws of death, time and time again.

Others were engulfed as soon as they started out, died where they should not have, no matter how much they deserved to live, no matter how much others tried to save them.

No matter how much he tried to save them.

That first assignment was what made her take an interest in him, and even after what she had done to him, what she had made him do, he didn't kill her, he couldn't kill her.

It wouldn't have won him back what she had taken, it would only have sent him and the rest of Team Zephyr to military prison.

She made a fatal mistake though. She put her life in his hands. She shouldn't have. She shouldn't have trusted him with her safety. Her life. For the first time ever, Matthias was in control, and he let her suffer for the agony that she had caused him.

Let the Brutes, have her, then; he had never seen so much pain inflicted in so little time, not without causing death. But what they did to her, it was horrible, vile, monstrous, loathsome, odious… there was no single word he could use to describe what he saw, and he knew that what she suffered was infinitely worse than anything she had inflicted upon him.

And though the Brutes were the ones who tortured her, it was by his hand that she suffered.

Flayed alive, screaming, crying, and still living, even as they carved her face from her head. Finally, crying himself, retching in his helmet, dryly, thank god, his chest burning as though his very soul was on fire, he ended it.

A single press of a button, and a wing of Longswords swept in, sending her, the Brutes, and the entire Covenant encampment to hell as they carpeted the area with fire.

But Matthias still remembered, still had the nightmares, where her retribution was slow, tender, loving, and painful beyond imagination.

The Brutes didn't scare him, nothing else did.

Only her.

A brilliant flash of blue passed through the air right before Matthias's eyes, blinding him for a moment, despite the filters built into his visor.

Then there was pain, horrible, blinding agony, his face stung, burnt, external temperature readings at over two thousand degrees centigrade. His arms reached up, reflexively, of their own accord, grabbing, tearing, pawing desperately at his face.

And then the heat was gone, along with his helmet, falling to the ground far below.

White fog, haze, ethereal cobwebs hung before his eyes. Ghostly in nature, there existed no purpose, no world. Only obscurity and nothingness.

Slowly it faded, form, tangibility returning to the world.

And there sat Private Anya Jamieson, staring at him, at his face, at his eyes. Brilliant irises, discs of purest blue, floating on a sea of milk. His nose, his face, gentle and angular, pale skin, deathly, porcelain.

His hair was ash, threaded, woven into fibres as fine as silk, dirty and tussled, yet carrying a lustre akin to that of fine satin. A scar, nearly vertical, on his left temple, not flesh-toned, but blue instead. He had seen battle against the sharp end of an energy sword.

And he was still smiling, even though his armour was literally giving off steam; thick, wispy tendrils rising into the cool, cloudless sky. Anya couldn't imagine the pain that he was in.

A Seraph fighter screamed past, firing its plasma cannons at one of the Pelican's that flew ahead of them. The transport lost an engine and, crippled, began to spiral towards the earth, belching a trail of thick, acrid smoke until it hit the ground with a sickening crash, the sound of metal being wrenched apart.

Then, a welcome screech, a trio of Longswords, tearing through the sky at a speed so fast, so incredible, that no sooner were they visible than a pair of Seraphs exploded, what was left of the craft burning as it rained towards the ground. The interceptors swooped around and began circling the convoy in protective formation, ready to shoot down anything else that didn't give a friendly ID code.

Lieutenant Anderton was already radioing for help, his short, rusty hair jerking violently in the updraft created as the Hornet descended rapidly towards the ground, along with the other Pelicans and the Albatross. They didn't stand a chance up here.

"Shit!"

His normally mild voice became gravelly, desperate even, as another Pelican split in two after taking a hit to the tail. They could only watch as the rear disintegrated, sending the cockpit and passenger compartment hurtling deep into the desert sand. The impact kicked up a cloud of dust that hung over the crash site, a deathly haze. From where he was, Matthias couldn't tell if there were any survivors.

But Anderton wasn't taking any chances; he grabbed his helmet and jammed it roughly onto his head, before repeating his request for assistance. "This is Lieutenant Frederik Anderton, requesting the immediate assistance of any frigate-sized or larger vessel. My convoy is getting shot to shit by Seraphs; we're falling apart up here. We are carrying wounded, and supplies. I repeat, this is Lieutenant Freder-"

There was static for a moment, and then a reply came in, so quietly it was nigh-impossible to hear amidst the commotion of the attack."This is the UNSC Brisbane, responding to assistance request. We are sending escort fighters, repeat we are providing escort fighters. ETA is one minute and counting."

"We have escort fighters, we need shelter from enemy fire; I have a poorly armoured convoy of air units here-," another Longsword flew over the top of the Hornet and blew a Seraph out of the sky, only to be hit by a lucky shot from one of its comrades. The voice of the pilot cut into the frequency Anderton was using, full of passion and determination, something that the Lieutenant rarely heard anymore.

"Shit yeah, this is the way I go!" A missile lanced out from beneath the wing of the crippled fighter, and shredded the Seraph that had landed the fatal blow. "See you in hell, motherfuck-," there was radio silence, for less than a second, then a nerve-jarring crack, as the Longsword rammed yet another of the teardrop-shaped Covenant fighters, both ships disappearing near-instantaneously in a smouldering maelstrom of fire and plasma.

Anderton could only gawp in amazement at what he had just witnessed, at what that pilot had just done; so consumed was he with respect for the man, that he nearly missed a positive reply from the crew of the Brisbane.

"We hear you loud and clear. En route now, we are charging Archer pods. Arrival in five minutes, we are preparing emergency extraction procedures."

It was at that moment that Matthias noticed a Seraph, cutting straight towards them, plasma cannons blazing. Then he noticed Anya, staring at him, staring deep into his brilliant blue eyes and what they held. He couldn't warn her, there was no time. He grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her down onto him, so close that their noses were touching.

A blast whizzed over both their heads, blowing a sizeable chunk out of tail, and out of the marine who sat behind them.The Hornet shuddered violently with the force of the impact, and then plummeted a few meters before stabilising. Matthias felt disoriented, it was funny, he thought the ground should be beneath you, not alongside you. Then he felt his stomach drop out from within him, electricity crackled along his spine, from his fingertips to the end of his toes.

He was consumed by a strange feeling, not one of fear or anger, but of euphoria, as he tumbled through the air towards the desert.

Or was the desert coming to him?

Then he notice Anya beneath him, her face contorted with terror. No. He wouldn't have it end this way, not for either of them. He rolled, so that she was no longer beneath him, so that she was safe. If now was his time to be shed of this mortal coil, then so it would be.

But somehow he doubted it, that life would let him off quite that easily. Then, suddenly, he felt it, his spine hitting the sand, motion; he was sliding down a small hill. Then, nausea as he came to a halt with a lurch . Dust rose around him, deathly haze, threatening to engulf him. His energy shields held for a moment, flexing, contorting, morphing as Anya's body pushed against his, cushioning her, saving her life, perhaps at the cost of his own.

Then they gave way, bolts of energy arcing across his armour, jumping from one plate of alloy to the next as his shields dissipated into the surrounding air. Anya rolled off him, completely unharmed, and began trying to help him up. However, he was far too heavy for her to lift alone.

He tried to shift his limbs, to move, to do something to show that he was A okay, but neither his arms nor his legs moved at all, not even the tiniest amount.

Sirens sounded, the voice of a digital angel; his vision blurred, here come the cobwebs again, enshrouding him, a heavenly veil.

An angel swept down from the sky, metallic wings beating up clouds of sand as it landed before him, bringing all his friends to see him.

As his eyes flickered shut, Matthias saw Loki standing over his paralysed body. Scarlet eyes, worried and distressed, looking into blue eyes, blithe and unaware.

The AI nodded, his mangy blue tresses blowing in a simulated wind. The corners of the Spartan's thin lips pricked up, and he slept, then, and for what seemed to be the rest of time itself.

_"Sleep now, my brother, but do not dream. In this realm and the next, all that exists is pain. Until we stand as one, we stand alone and we suffer."_

_

* * *

_

My mind presents...

**Journey of an Apostle**

A _Halo_ story

Written by Kieren P. McGovern (AKA Untractable Evocation, or Loki, or Fedaykin Guard).

With thanks to Corey W. Smith (Cylor), The Phiend, and Shawn L. Phillips for their help.

The Halo universe and all characters depicted therein, apart from those of my own creation, are the intellectual property of Bungie Studios, with special license to Microsoft. The (original) characters and situations depicted within this fanfiction are MY intellectual property, and use of these characters without my expressed permission will result in serious action.


	4. For the Fallen

**New chapter... not much else I can think to say, other than that. 

* * *

**

_Forced together, we were. We had not the luxury of choice, the decision we made was not our own, but that of fate._

_But I am happy._

_You were nothing like the others, different from the norm. Like them, you were strong and swift and brave. __A natural leader._

_But you had something they didn't. __Something that set you apart._

_Compassion.__ Not for our enemies, but for your men. Not only tools were they, but friends, brothers, sisters. _

_You and I, we were – are – brothers._

_You promised that you would never leave me; brotherhood eternal, friendship everlasting._

_And I believed you._

_Was I wrong? _

"Spartan-257? Sir? This is Lieutenant Anderton; if you can hear me, I need you to try and move your right arm."

Words? Speech? He wasn't dead. This wasn't a fell dream, a creation of heaven or hell. He was still alive; he still existed.

"Sir, he's not responding… we have to leave him now; this is the sixteenth time that you've tried this. Even down here, we're not safe, and we've been here for hours. Bravo Kilo's know we're somewhere around here, and with the _Brisbane_ gone, we're defenceless…" There was another voice, this one… concerned, definitely upset, but still desperately scared, terrified of unforeseen consequences.

Anderton spoke again, sadness, deep and heartfelt, colouring his voice melancholy.

"Well son, I guess that's just how it happens."

Matthias felt a hand on his shoulder, and crying… someone behind him was crying. Then, there was Loki.

"Jackasses; do you buffoons actually think that he's dead? How many times do I have to tell you, there's brainwave activity-" The AI protested, only to be reprimanded by Anderton.

"Brainwave activity amounts to squat if he's not reacting to external stimuli, Loki. Just let him go. We need to leave, meet up with the other survivors before we get found down here. He's not the only casualty we've suffered today; he's not even the first. Just let him go."

"I know… it-it's just; have you ever had to leave someone behind, someone you've known all your life, someone who, if you were corporeal, could be your brother?" Loki was bitter, anguished, showing more emotion than Matthias thought possible, even for a human.

"Yes… many, many, many times. And if that's taught me anything, it's that we have to move on. We cannot let something like death, such a necessary part of life, get in the way of our living it. Get in the way of our survival. We have a duty, to those who were not fortunate enough to be here, to keep on living. For them. What do you think he would want you to do, Loki?"

Get the job done. Keep these men alive for long enough to carry out Operation Sonic Razor, to end the Covenant. The AI was satisfied, satiated, by this, by the knowledge that he wasn't alone in his suffering. There was a moment of silence, followed by a sigh.

"Yank me." There was more silence, then a hand, rough, gritty, masculine, at the base of the Spartans neck. It was so strange; almost disturbingly intimate, to have someone else touch his skin. To have someone even touch him.

He jolted, unused to, afraid of, such contact.

"Shit! Seems like you were right, after all, Loki." There was a brief moment of silence, during which the crying stopped. "But why isn't he moving, then?"

"His armour's in lockdown. After such an impact, it freezes up. Immobilises limbs, gel layer cushions bones and muscles. It is a method of reducing injury, which remains effective until consciousness is regained, at which point full control of the armour is returned to those who wear it."

A crack, sand caught between armour plates, crunching as Matthias rose on one knee, his left arm easily supporting the massive combined weight of the Titanium alloy armour that had very nearly become his casket.

A moment of rest, then he pushed himself up, a titan, he rose to his full height. Seven and a half feet of machine and man, armour, flesh, merged into one being. A being who, although he was far stronger, smarter, stealthier, than his comrades, was still one of them. Was still human.

A voice across the clearing, far deeper, far more masculine than was possible for any human male spoke, eloquent, concerned, proud. 'Xanthtuum.

"It gladdens me to see you alive, brother. After such a vicious plunge, even I suspected the worst. Faith is something the treachery of the hierarchs has purged from my being."

"Faith is something that you should always have."

_T__hough not to the point of fanaticism_

He accepted the Elite's outstretched hand, hauled himself up. Then he turned to Lieutenant Anderton, whose eyes carried a glimmer, of something that approximated hope.

"I'm going to have to ditch this armour." That said, he began to remove components of his MJOLNIR suit. Hydrostatic gel, whatever hadn't boiled from his suit when he was shot down, began oozing onto the hot sand, thick rivulets spilling downhill as it warmed upon the scorched earth.

"Sir?" Anderton again, as concerned as he was nervous. Without his armour, Matthias lost his biggest advantage.

"Armour is malfunctioning. It's reducing my speed to half that of an ordinary human, and my shields are at quarter capacity. If I don't ditch this, I may as well paint a bullseye on my forehead. However," he turned to Anderton, "I will still need protection of some sort."

"No need to worry about that, Sir. Got a few spare sets of ODST armour in the Pelican over there." He pointed towards a crippled aircraft, which looked as though it had recently been ablaze. A duo of marines exited the rear hatch carrying what Matthias instantly recognised as a resupply canister.

Anderton gestured to them, and they dropped the pod at his feet.

"Well, there you are. It's either this or standard marine, and trust me, this is the better of the two."

Matthias was stripped down, soon he was clad in his undersuit, the only part of his MJOLNIR armour that still functioned.

He prodded the canister with his foot. It split cleanly along the centre, revealing a full suit of atmosphere-independent ODST armour. Within twenty-five seconds he had donned the armour, and was much happier for it.

He had lived much of his life sealed within a protective suit, whether Semi-Powered Infiltration or MJOLNIR. Without it, without the familiar, comforting sensation of claustrophobia that his armour produced, he felt weak, unprotected.

There was also Loki's presence deep in his mind, icy-cold, numbing, yet comforting. He was glad that his undersuit was still functional. Without the memory-processor super-conductive material woven throughout it, he would be alone.

No. He felt much better now that he tasted his air. Cool, metallic. A stark contrast to the hot, burning air he had felt upon his face not a moment ago. He reached for the rear torso plating on his MJOLNIR, and keyed in the self-destruct ignition sequence. Any Covenant that came within twenty-five meters would be sent on the Great Journey prematuarely, whether they had their lunch packed or not.

But still, something was wrong somewhere near. He could tell. Then, he realised. Private Jamieson was hunched over a log, hands on her temples, distraught. She was upset, clearly, but thankfully, or so Matthias judged based on her behaviour, she hadn't given in to the crippling temporary insanity that so often grasped the mind during war.

He strode to her side, crouched, placed his hand on her shoulder. He spoke, and she turned to meet his gaze.

"We have a duty to those that have fallen this day, a duty to make sure that their sacrifice was not in vain."

Anya smiled bitterly, then spoke to herself, the pathetic reflection she caught in Matthias's visor. He didn't care. No one cared. No one ever did. They could all die right now, and no one would care.

There would be false tears shed at a mass funeral, then a new outfit would take their place.

"Our duty is to protect Earth, the human race, at all costs. We have no duty to the dead, unless imagined."

"You - so many other people, are wrong. Those that have died in this war, each and every one of them, died for us. They didn't ask for what they got. They simply fought, to protect themselves, their families, even people they could never meet. And when the time came for them to depart this life, they did so, as duty dictated. When death came, they met it head on, whether kicking and screaming, or crowing triumphantly."

"I – I wasn't crying about you." Lying through her teeth, Anya tried to maintain the façade. But, she couldn't. Tears rolled out thicker when his reply came.

"No one ever does."

How could she be so selfish?

"I…"

_I'm sorry._

"Death spares nothing that lives. Everything that is alive will, inevitably, die. Humans, AI's, Covenant; we are all of us unique. But pit us against time, and we'll all come out second best. We will all die, just the same," Matthias turned away, "even Spartans."

"Spartans?"

"Have you ever seen the list? The list of all the Spartans listed as MIA? They're all dead, Private. Each and every one of them."

_As a doorstop._

"But… but…" Why would the UNSC lie to them?

"As far as I know, the only Spartan still alive, apart from myself, is John one-one-seven." The Master Chief.

"I… I thought you were dead. You risked everything, for me."

"But, who wouldn't have done the same?" Matthias, who had put his life constantly on the line without compensation since the age of ten, could not comprehend her gratitude. It seemed totally inexplicable.

"No. And, if the did, they would probably turn up by my bunk, if you know what I mean."

Emptiness, lack of sound, was all that greeted her. So, it was true then, that Spartans showed no interest, in… sex.

"If only we never did die. But what would we be, then?"

Strange. He was avoiding the question. Could her Staff Captain be afraid of sex?

"Sir… You… don't want to be rewarded?" Not that she was offering, but she had seen ranking officers demand, and get, anything from those under their command.

Anything.

She was lucky, she supposed, to have had Anderton and Zenglehart, and now this Spartan. But, all these raids were stressful as hell, and the excitement.

There had to be a release. She wasn't one of these hard-boiled ODSTs who got off by smashing Covenant soldiers into submission with the butts of their rifles.

God. To them, foreplay was a frag grenade, and afterglow was putting a Mike Foxtrot head in a jar to show the folks back home.

She would need to make some private time once they got back to a base, either with someone or alone.

"Sir?"

Matthias turned, first towards Anderton, and then to Jamieson.

"Private," he removed his helmet, "Tell me how old I am."

Anya stopped dead. He had to be the same age as Anderton, twenty-seven, at least. He had stubble, just breaking the skin, but none of the discolouration that older men, like her father, had.

Sshe wasn't sure.

Greeted only by silence, Matthias spoke again, his voice merely a whisper this time.

"How about you tell me your age, and I tell you mine?"

"I'm… I'm nineteen, sir."

Sealing his helmet back over his head, Matthias sighed sadly. He hadn't expected her to be an age so close to his own.

"I'm seventeen, private."

"Oh, my god." He was so… young.

"Private…" Matthias could see the horror, spreading across Jamieson's face. He, he wanted to comfort her… but, he didn't know how. He placed his hand on her shoulder, only to remove it almost instantly. He could feel her skin.

Anya looked up, and smiled, just a little.

Perhaps, people did care, after all.

Anderton, having heard the tone and direction of their conversation, ran over, his face now hidden by a new helmet.

"You're gonna have to stow the philosophy for now, Sir. We're picking up an urgent distress call, courtesy of Gunnery Sergeant Stacker."

Matthias, considered, briefly, the option of simply ignoring the message. Of saving the marines he had come to know, at the cost of the others.

No. That was not who he was. He was a Spartan. A warrior. A man. And he would do what was right.

Even if he had to do it alone.

"Play it."

* * *

My mind presents...

**Journey of an Apostle**

A _Halo _story

Written by Kieren P. McGovern (AKA Untractable Evocation, or Loki, or Fedaykin Guard).

With thanks to Corey W. Smith (Cylor), The Phiend, and Shawn L. Phillips for their help.

The Halo universe and all characters depicted therein, apart from those of my own creation, are the intellectual property of Bungie Studios, with special license to Microsoft. The (original) characters and situations depicted within this fanfiction are MY intellectual property, and use of these characters without my expressed permission will result in serious action.


	5. Unrelated Brothers

**Author's Note: **Nothing much to say here. I like this chapter, and hope you all like it too.

* * *

For a brief moment, there was only the twiddling of knobs, occasionally punctuated by bursts of static. Then, Anderton flicked a switch, and the message played.

"**I repeat: My convoy's been hit. I've got wounded," **more static**, "We're on the Tsavo Highway about,"** another hiss**, "east of Voi. Someone, anyone, please, respond!"**

For a moment, Matthias silently pondered his position. He would help Stacker.

He would answer the call personally, even if it meant taking on a Covenant Supercarrier with no armour.

But first, he needed to find out what had happened, how many men he had left. He looked to the ODST, and opened his mouth, asked a single question.

"What happened?"

"We survived… barely." Though his face was hidden behind shroud of silver, Matthias could see that look etched onto the face beneath. One of rage, barely suppressed, bred with sorrow, deep and consuming.

A Spartan could always tell what was behind the helmet.

"Sir," a Warthog rolled up next to them, flinging dust and pebbles into the air, "we need to move, now." The driver leapt out, and Matthias instinctively took the wheel. No matter how good a driver a marine was, they had a far slower reaction time than any Spartan.

"You okay to drive?"

He didn't answer the man, who shrugged and clambered into the rear of the vehicle, hastily clipping himself to the turret.

"Yeah, he's totally fine."

This surprised him. He hadn't notice Anya get into the passenger side. He would have to be more vigilant. If she had been hostile…

"How did we get through that?" They pulled out of their hiding place, leading a convoy over the hot, dry sea, to the road ahead. Back to the Tsavo highway.

"The UNSC _Lone Shadow_," Anderton pushed down on a pedal, and the turret spun to the right, scanning the horizon,the Seraphs, they were cutting us to pieces… we had to land, let the Longswords deal with them as best they could. But, that damn Cruiser kept deploying more and more of the bastards."

"Why? Why didn't they just blast us all out of the air?" It didn't make sense, none whatsoever.

"I'm sorry," Loki mocked, "but, I thought that was exactly what did happen."

Anderton ignored him. Without realising it, the AI had said something obscenely cruel.

"The _Brisbane_, we could just make it out on the horizon, but there was no way it could have gotten here in time. Then, this Prowler-class corvette just appears outta nowhere…"

He could still see it, point defence turrets running hot all over the stealth ship, Seraphs shattering, crashing, dying. Armageddon, as fire and brimstone rained down.

Only, this time, it was the Covenant being rained upon.

"…It starts shooting them out of the air. God, it felt so good, watching those Bravo Kilo bastards being melted into slag. Even that damn cruiser… it was lucky to make it out in one piece."

"Oh?"

"The tables turned as soon as _Brisbane_ came within range. _Lone Shadow_ had pulse lasers… ONI's finally showing what they can do with that funding… cut the shields on the _Undying Passion _to pieces."

"Then," Loki interrupted again, his voice heavy with excitement, "it was standard attack procedure. The _Brisbane_ loosed a MAC round…"

He could still remember. The intangible flower that had blossomed from the main cannon, a fiery seed that, burning brightly, had torn a hole in the cruiser big enough to fly a Longsword through.

"…significant damage was caused to the hull, allowing a rather interesting naval manoeuvre to be performed. They flew right over and dropped a nuke into the hole. A small one, but when the shield reenergised, it multiplied the power of the blast tremendously."

Loki could still see it. A thousand stars, burning the sky, intensity so bright that no man could look on, only him. A Covenant ship, hull blighted beyond recognition, limped away, sinking as it went.

A rare triumph for the United Nations Space Command. Hopefully, more would follow.

"_Brisbane _took what ships weren't damaged beyond repair, and those crew members who… who couldn't finish the fight. They resupplied us, and leant us some fresh meat."

So, there had been fatalities. Yes, he had noticed that several of the marines he had spotted were far too clean to have come from Eagle Base with them.

"Sir, we've got something on radar, coming in hot."

"Phantom!"

He could hear the whine, the familiar howl of a Loyalist dropship hovering overhead, scanning the area. Now, they needed to leave. Immediately.

Plasma bolts forked through the air toward them, incinerating whatever they hit. The dropship loomed ominously overhead, like the raging tempest that stung the air in the distance. Anderton opened fire with the gauss cannon, hyper-velocity metal slugs tearing through the purple shell. A plasma explosion engulfed the hull, blue fire incinerating all those within.

"Men," Matthias raised his arm, a gesture of defiance, "any Bravo Kilo's that come between us and Stacker, give 'em lead, stop 'em dead." The rest of Team Zephyr would've loved to hear that, their old motto. If they were even alive anymore.

The dropship came to a grinding halt, hung momentarily, and exploded with a keening wail, plasma and shrapnel hailing down upon the convoy.

'Xanthtuum bought the Chopper into the lead, ready to tear apart any Loyalists that came within range. The Warthogs made up the middle of the pack, turrets ready, eye open. Mongooses tore around at high speed, zipping through any available gap in the traffic, ready to deter boarders.

There would be a difficult battle in the near future, whether they picked up Stacker or not. But, they would need all the help they could get. The Sonic Razor was ready to fly, and he had to be there when it did. The future, he was responsible for the entire future of mankind.

Just as the Spartans always had been.

"Woah, man, we owned those idiots!" A marine called over the crackling of asphalt beneath the convoy.

There was a moment of laughter, until a volley of neon flame landed just ahead of them. The asphalt liquefied, then froze, a mirror.

"Banshees, coming in fast and hard."

There – purple beasts, screaming down from the heavens, rapacious, insatiable in their quest for man-flesh.

"Shit, bring the guns around!" Anderton's voice, over the COM channel.

Barrels spinning, molten lead began to pour into the air, catching the Banshees. One, two, three down, plasma spraying into the atmosphere, blue lights, fireflies.

Anderton began firing slugs at the remaining fighters, he caught one, right through the middle. Over the constant drumming of gunfire, Matthias could vaguely hear the pilot being crushed into liquescence, splattered along the warped cockpit.

Then, another Banshee pulled away from the pack, began hurtling towards them. A blast from its cannons, and a Warthog came to a sudden halt, flames licking the bonnet.

"Bail out, it's gonna blow!" The crew barely made it five meters, when the fuel tank went up, blasting them a further three meters across the road. The turret operator hauled himself up, ran the aid of the driver. They didn't get up.

"Take the wheel," Matthias nodded to Anya, who let out a sharp exhalation.

Sobbing, the lone marine began to loose rifle fire at the Banshee that had landed the killing blow. His assault rifle out of ammunition, he hurled it skywards. Then, plasma fire cut him down, a bloody haze floating into the air. When it cleared, nothing was left. Only a cracked helmet, and a gore-stained pauldron.

"What? Now?"

A blast from a Spartan laser tore the sky apart, and another Banshee split in two, its pilot equally divided.

"Now." Anya had no time to argue, as he launched himself from the driver's seat and onto the hull of a Banshee that had strayed too close. It was so much harder to do this without MJOLNIR. He could barely hang on, every turn and roll the pilot made bought him an inch closer to his death.

"You crazy bastard, what the hell are you doing up there?" This time it was Anderton, his voice a cocktail of emotions that Matthias couldn't quite decipher. But, there was concern.

Concern.

No one had ever spoke with concern in their voice, not to him. Not ever.

"Collecting an unpaid due." The Brutes, the Prophets, even the Elites, had taken so much from humanity, from him. They owed mankind a debt, one which could be paid only in blood. The Elites had begun to pay what they owed, with their blood, in battle against the Brutes, and the parasite.

Matthias shuddered visible, nearly lost his footing and fell, just thinking about the invasive, tentacled cancer known as the Flood. He hoped never to see it again. Never to hear of it again.

The Brutes, they were paying for every atrocity they had ever committed, with blood. Splattered over the ground, the pavement, themselves. It didn't matter. All that did matter was that Matthias would take it, until there was none left flowing through their foul veins. Only then, once he had fulfilled this task, could he rest.

Then, with might beyond measure, strength that he did not know possible, the Spartan grabbed the pilot by his leg and wrenched him free. A fierce roar burst from the Brute's throat, becoming a scream as he plunged towards the asphalt far below. A sicking thud, and then a crack, as a Warthog gained a brand new hood ornament.

"Sir? Sir? Oh, thank god. Your vitals just flashed KIA, and when we hit that Brute…" They had thought it was him. Their concern was… touching.

"Never mind me, just get that damn gauss cannon firing." Matthias rolled out, narrowly dodging a volley of plasma, serene blue globules. Damn. He could have done without them knowing it was him in the Banshee.Neon blue, bright orange. That's what the world became, on the targeting screen of the sleek alien fighter. Orange was good. Orange was alive. Orange was a target. Heat signatures, moving components, organic.

They had moved onto the skyway, a part of the Tsavo highway that cut several hundred meters above the ground, he noted. Manoeuvring on the ground would prove difficult; it was, he decided, a good thing he had taken the Banshee. He lined up his target and fired, two Banshees falling to the ground, trailing wreckage.

"Be careful Spartan; another Phantom lies ahead." 'Xanthtuum warned, his voice coming from all around, thanks to the speakers in Matthias' helmet.

"Great shot!" One of the dropships side turrets, along with what little remained of its operator, plummeted to the ground as Anderton scored a hit.

Lucky for Matthias, because he was going in hot. His Banshee had taken a blast from a pursuer, and, based on the insistent whining of the engine, wasn't going to last long enough for him to reach ground. He would have to 'dock', for lack of a better term, with the Phantom.

A shot from his fuel rod gun made sure that there were no arguments from the crew. He didn't need them offering their opinion on the matter. Sparks flew as the two craft became one, the protective canopy of the Banshee torn away by the impact.

Screaming now, the fuel cell begin to leak, fluid lightning gushing from cracks in the containment shield. Matthias, having leapt from the Banshee at the last minute, dove towards the gravity lift in the very centre of the cargo bay.

Tiny purple particles tugging at him, he found himself drawn quickly, but comfortably, earthwards. Until the Banshee went up, taking the Phantom with it in a firestorm of epic proportions.

From there, things very rapidly, and literally, began to go downhill. The resulting power surge temporarily increased the power of the lift by a huge amount, blasting him into the ground.

It was painful beyond imagination, compounded by the fact that his bones, instead of breaking, amplified the trauma into his muscle. That he had landed on his feet made it far, far worse.

But, at least he had landed on the highway.

He had never screamed in his life, not due to physical pain, anyway. But, this was the closest he had ever come to doing so. As bad as the pain was, though, it didn't come anywhere near having a Warthog barrelling towards you at two-hundred kilometres on hour. Timing was everything, and Matthias rolled just in time to avoid becoming roadkill. With as much effort as he could muster, he caught a roll bar and pulled himself into the vehicle.

"That was totally awesome! And you managed to get back into the same warthog." It was Anderton, leaning back as he loosed another volley at the one remaining Banshee, which, already heavily damaged, simply disintegrated.

Matthias hardly that his feat deserved any praise. He felt like retching, as though every muscle in his being had been torn apart fibre by fibre, then woven back together by a mad seamstress. Flayed alive and stretched over a hat stand.

"Have you got any morphine?"

"Sure… it's in my pocket."

Anya was too busy paying attention to the road to get the needle herself, but felt a distinctly pleasurable jolt crackle along up her spine when Matthias reached into the pouch on her thigh. The sensation, at first a warm tingling, became hotter and hotter as she realised that he hadn't yet withdrawn his hand.

"Okay, this isn't good." Loki warbled over the COM, sounding rather more worried than he did normally.

"Are you kidding?" Matthias was the first male to touch Anya anywhere below the belt in over two months, and the unexpected, but nonetheless welcome contact had left her in a dream-like state.

"Wake up, tool! He can barely move, and even if he could, he'd be less interested in your hot box than he would be in the morphine."

The dawning realisation that her commanding officer was not, as she had hope, interested in her, combined with the uncontrollable and completely unrealistic urge to punch Loki in the face, shocked Anya back to her senses.

"Sir…?"

"I'm… fine." The Spartan warrior had regained his senses just long enough to withdraw his hand and inject himself with the needle. The difference it made was amazing. The agonising fog that had floated before his eyes was gone, and he found himself able to move without pain.

And it just as well.

"Oh, shit," Anderton's voice faltered for a moment, then grew louder than it had in a long time, "Seraph!"

Come on! Matthias wasn't ready to give up now. Just over a hundred meters, and they would be there. But, it seemed the pilot wasn't going to give them a choice in the matter. The fighter looped about and flew right at them, holding fire, for a reason he couldn't quite understand.

"Don't let it get in attack range!"

"It IS in attack range."

"Shoot it down!"

A shot from Anderton blew away a segment of hull armour. He shot again, but the Seraph rolled, taking another hit, but one that wasn't fatal. Matthias looked around him. He had, he guessed, around ten seconds in which to destroy a Seraph. There – a Mongoose had pulled in alongside them, the passenger armed with a Spartan Laser.

"I'll take that." Matthias had torn it from the marine's hands, shouldered it, and taken aim, all before she had time to argue. He'd only get one shot at this. He pulled down on the trigger, taking care not to break it, as normally happened when he applied too much pressure, at least in MJOLNIR. The weapon spat out a thin targeting beam as the battery dumped its charge in preparation for the final blast.

Three… two… one…

A spear of crystallized blood flew from the end of the laser, skewering the Seraph. A one in a million shot, he had managed to hit the unprotected area that Anderton himself had reveal moments before. Matthias always had been a good shot, but this, even he realised, was amazing. Julio would be proud.

Spewing fuel, the craft spun out of control towards them, cannons flaring. He was trying to take them to hell with him. At the last moment, a fuel tank went up, blowing the Seraph off-course into the highway ahead of them.

"We aren't going to stop in time!" Anya cried, her voice loud enough, amazingly, to be heard over the screech of metal and the crack of shattering asphalt as the highway was torn apart beneath them. With not a second to spare, Matthias pulled the handbrake, took the wheel, and turned sharply to the left.

As he had expected, the Warthog flipped and began to roll violently towards the abyss, slowing a little with each revolution. Still, it was moving far too quickly. They were done for.

Until a lone Chopper boosted ahead of the out-of-control vehicle, to the very edge of the drop, and turned to face them.

'Xanthtuum.

But, what was he trying to do? And then, Matthias saw what was happening. The Warthog spun, hit the savage blades mounted upon the front of the barbarous vehicle, and came to a stop. But not before it pushed the Chopper, and 'Xanthtuum along with it, over the precipice.

"No!" Matthias flicked a switch, and leapt from the passenger seat into the abyss, catching the tow cable mounted on the front of the Warthog as he went.

He fell towards the Elite, who clung desperately to a small outcrop, flames licking up from the smouldering wreckage beneath, his shields flaring out under the intense heat.

"Let me fall, Spartan; you cannot hope to save me. Leave now, before the flames roast us both."

"I'll not leave you." Matthias grabbed 'Xanthtuum by the wrist and pulled.

"But why? Why would you risk your own life to save mine, knowing as you do that I have burned countless worlds?"

"Because," beneath the helmet there was another smile, sad though it was, "where you burned worlds, I obliterated them."

He could remember each assignment he had ever been on, down to every last detail. Each kill, each shot, each spent casing that fell… Each ally he lost. And, he remembered the planets he destroyed. He couldn't remember how many there were, or even their names, not that they had any, human at least.

But still, each and every one was burnt onto the landscape of his mind.

Beautiful jewels, floating in the darkness, oceans glimmering, clouds hiding the beauty, yet adding to it, and then, the lights. That was how it always started. Nine shimmering orbs, glowing brighter than the sun itself. And then, they would merge into one, and for a moment, it would be beautiful.

And then, the planet would be blown apart. The smaller ones shattered, then simply hung in space, a field of debris. The larger worlds sometimes survived, if that was the right word to use. Their surfaces were complete obliterated, all water vaporised, the atmosphere torn apart, but, still, they were whole.

Team Zephyr, Team Gradius, and Team Calypso. Elite, even amongst the Spartans. The best of the best, tasked with planting and protecting NOVA bombs on unfriendly soil, charged destroying not only the Covenant, but the earth from which they came.

And, he could remember that they would always watch the final moments of the world they had just condemned, wordlessly, through a small window in the rear of their exfiltration craft. And then, they would make a random jump through slipspace, to safety. But, they were never truly safe. Between the Covenant, and the Parasite, any safety they felt was just an illusion. Some places were safer than others, but that was just it. They were safer, but no place was ever truly safe.

"We have fought together for barely a week, Spartan. Yet, in you I sense a kindred spirit." 'Xanthtuum grabbed Matthias now, and they each held on for dear life, even as purple rain began to fall upon them, only it was not falling, but pulling.

"It is more than that, though," Matthias spoke even as they were drawn upwards, hands still linked, into a Phantom.

"Though fate had us meet as foes, that ring has made us brothers." Those words were not his own, though it was he who spoke them.

Veins overtook his vision, and a vile fog hung around him, cloudy and grey. It was no longer truly he who saw. Someone, something, else was using him. And then, it was gone.

"Those who dwell on the past, are those who cannot walk into the future… though some may not believe it, 'Xanthtuum, we, humans and Elites, must face the unknown united, or fall, divided."

The Sangheili stopped, then cocked his head. He blinked, then gazed intently, as though trapped, deep in some internal debate.

And then, he spoke again, words that Matthias could not have expected.

"Then, you are no longer a Spartan. From this day forward, Matthias-two-five-seven, you shall be known to me by a different name. Brother."

He could see Grunts standing over him, clad in archaic bronze armour. Another of the diminutive soldiers conversed with a fluttering hologram, of two Elites, watching intently. One wore the ceremonial dressage of the Arbiter, and the other was missing his left mandibles. Rtas 'Vadum.

Then, Anderton and Anya appeared before him, a medic hastily setting up a small work area around him, spraying biofoam into various wounds. He hadn't even noticed the gashes, just as he barely felt the sting of the antiseptic gel that sealed them.

And there was 'Xanthtuum, looking upon him silently, his reptilian eyes holding something he didn't quite know.

Admiration.

* * *

My mind presents...

**Journey of an Apostle**

A _Halo _story

Written by Kieren P. McGovern (AKA Untractable Evocation, or Loki, or Fedaykin Guard).

With thanks to Corey W. Smith (Cylor), The Phiend, and Shawn L. Phillips for their help.

The Halo universe and all characters depicted therein, apart from those of my own creation, are the intellectual property of Bungie Studios, with special license to Microsoft. The (original) characters and situations depicted within this fanfiction are MY intellectual property, and use of these characters without my expressed permission will result in serious action.


	6. Ghosts of Onyx

**Uh... yeah, I know I haven't posted anything in a while, but I go to college now, so it'll likely be this way for a while. But fear not; in return for your good faith, I have a HUGE CHAPTER!**

* * *

Sirens… beautiful creatures, their electric melody dancing upon the air. They spoke to Matthias as he lay, whispering sweet nothings in his ears. It wasn't his time. Not yet. Tentatively, he flexed his hand. Nothing happened. There was a voice, one that was only too familiar.

* * *

"The men who came for you promised that I would make you into soldiers. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but they lied." A gargantuan figure stood before Matthias, clad in emerald armour. "With my help, you will become something far greater than the marines could ever be." Balling his hand into a fist, the knight, Kurt, he said his name was, stepped forwards. "I will make a Spartan from every one of you."

Around him, there was excited murmuring. Hundreds of other children, maybe even a thousand, began to talk, their combined voices so loud that his ears couldn't take it. But Matthias bore the strain; he had to be strong, for his family. The family he no longer had.

There was silence, reverent in its totality. Matthias looked up, and saw his that the man in the magical armour was standing before him.

"What is this?" He gestured towards a bundle of thick brown fur, a teddy, worn ragged, that the boy held in a desperate grip.

"Please don't take him. He's all I have left…"

"Of a dead family. They're gone, Matthias, thanks to the Covenant. But," Kurt place a tender hand on his shoulder, "that doesn't mean you've been abandoned." From behind his back, he produced a flat disk the size of an orange. Enthralled by its flawless chrome finish, Matthias reached out towards Kurt's offering, drawing his hand back when a shimmering column of turquoise appeared at its centre. A figure appeared in the midst of the static, masculine features obvious beneath a ten-gallon hat.

"Hey kid, what's your name?" The sprite had a defiant, yet eerily calm, tone.

"Matthias." He stuttered back, too shocked to articulate properly. There had been an AI on Stratos Altaria, but she had been nothing like this one.

"I'm Loki."

* * *

A whirling vortex of faces and figures consumed them all. Screaming, Matthias forced his eyes shut. Then, they flickered open, greeted with darkness. No. More than that. In the shadows, he caught glimpses, obscure figures, running, ducking, disappearing. Though he was sealed in that which was both a prison, and a home, he ran onwards, towards the figures.

Suddenly, he was overtaken by a wave of drowsiness. He fought, pushed it back, but still, he felt his eyes being drawn shut by some irresistible force. They shut, just a moment, and shot wide open once again.

He was back. Back in the graveyard. Back on Solaris Marathon VI.

And everywhere he looked, he could see ghosts. Not fully transparent, nor entirely visible. Apparitions, creeping through dense foliage, moisture dripping from the plants onto their phantom figures, trailing to the spongy earth below.

Matthias immediately joined the spirits, his MJOLNIR Mark VI Scout armour making him all but a memory, like his brethren. For that is all that they were, all that they would ever be. And for this moment, he was one of them.

There, before him, there was a hiss. A Jackal stood, plumage erect, eyes alert, scanning. The jungle rustled, a shadow whispered, and the avian reptile fell silent, neck snapped, carbine falling to his side. Matthias crept forwards and checked the ammunition counter on the weapon. Full. He lifted it, then slung his battle rifle over his shoulder, magnetic force sealing the weapon to his armour. The human weapon may have been more powerful in terms of stopping power, but the carbine was more accurate, fired single, radioactive rounds, and was far quieter.

As he stalked further through the mouldy slush that covered the floor of the rainforest, Matthias came to a complete stop. The ammunition counter on the carbine was full. It should have been close to empty. This outpost was meant to be low on supplies; there was no way that a lowly Jackal would have been given a full weapon.

He pulled a bubble shield generator, a glowing yellow device the size of a grapefruit, from its place at his lower back, and flicked the activation switch. Sharp blades, triggered by gravity, flicked from the end that faced the ground. Several nearby wisps moved closer, but not too close. Then, there was a strange sound unlike any other Matthias had heard, and screaming. Not the scream of any human – an Elite flew through the air above them, ribs and organs hanging loose from its torso.

A howl echoed, one that many of the Spartans recognised immediately and enjoyed immensely. The scream of a Brute, one who was experiencing tremendous pain. One of the gathered Spartans, Carlos G-455, made a half moon across his visor using two fingers; The Spartan equivalent of a smile.

Another howl, then the swish of an energy sword. Silence filled the air as they continued their advance, cautiously checking every contact on their motion tracker, though many were false. Strange wildlife thrived in this swam; tentacled spiders that had attacked several of his soldiers, only to be torn apart themselves, birds with six wings, even slugs which moved faster than he did, all of them made their motion sensors useless.

But, if they were blind, the enemy was, too.

Then, a woman, possibly the eldest of the Spartans here, though she was only eighteen, broke silence.

"We've got angels here, darling." Yui G-146's voice was immensely husky, and something that Matthias found both unwelcome and disturbing.

One of only a handful of Asian recruits, Yui had developed early, even before the forced puberty that the UNSC had put them through, and had developed a huge sexual appetite. And, he knew that she, irrationally, fancied him of all the others.

He was her commanding officer, for god's sake! And, even if he wasn't, after what had happened with Dr. Halsey, he… he could never look at another human being that way again.

But, this was different. There was no lust in her now, only fear. Fear that no marine could have picked; but, Matthias was hardly a mere soldier. Just as a Seraph was hardly a mere angel. It was an angel of death. This was trouble.

"Confirmed. Squad leads prepare to deploy shield devices."

Acknowledgement lights winked on.

For several tense seconds, the Seraphs drew nearer, until they were upon them, plasma tearing the air apart. A single purple ray slashed across the heavens, and the fighters split cleanly in half, molten circuitry glowing white.

"What the hell's going on up there?" He demanded to know how the situation had changed so dramatically.

_"That damn lizard's been watching ever him since he got here."_

"Repeat, soldier?"

"Their own cruisers are firing on them, sir."

He had no time to react to that comment, for he was sent flying by the blast of a gravity hammer. He hit a tree, and slumped, fortunate to have survived. A Brute chieftain lunged from the scrub and swung again. Camouflage began shorting out; Spartans, now visible, fired upon the beast as they pulled their limp comrades away from danger.

With an angry grunt, Matthias leapt to his feet and stalked towards the ape, making no attempt to remain hidden. It was no use, anyway; the legionnaire skin of his own armour had shorted out, and needed to recharge. His shields, on the other hand, had recharged not long after he hit the ground.

Snarling, the chieftain accepted his challenge, and ran to greet him with a mighty blow. With a strong overarm, Matthias impaled the monster with the bubble shield generator. Sensing that it had become rooted in something, but unable to tell that it was flesh in which it was planted, the generator activated, a matrix of gold hexagons flaring out to form a protective dome.

The Brute continued his swing, enraged and in pain, unaware of the trap that had been set. The hammer hit a tree, and splintered it, letting out a crushing blast of localised gravity. Contained within the spherical energy wall, the blast reflected back into the brute, spraying bloody slush over the bubble. A moment later, the shield collapsed, generator destroyed by the hammer. For what seemed an eternity, rancid offal hung in the air. Then, finally, gravity found the offering and brought it back to ground.

Reeling, head burning, the sounds of battle filtering through the fluid in his ears, Matthias rolled to the side, no respite now, an energy sword slashing at him, crackling static. Another swipe, a downward stroke. Again, he rolled, backwards this time, into the dripping remains of the chieftain; his hand found the Brute's hammer, ready to attack.

It was an Elite, clad in commando armour, elaborate detailing radiant in the murk. His head was cocked, blue neon eye covers glaring into a metallic gold visor.

_"They respect each other. More than they respect their troops. More than they respect themselves."_

The Elite rushed him, blade humming, only to have his blow knocked aside with a vicious counter. Damn; the hammer was out of charge. That would make things harder than they could have been. Another 

swipe, and another block. Pinned beneath the bulk of his opponent, twin slivers of aqua made their way towards his eyes, then stopped; Matthias clutched an armored gauntlet in one hand, a plasma grenade in the other.

"Go ahead." A thick, masculine voice boomed through speakers in the commando's helmet. "My armour will protect me from the explosion. You will not be so lucky."

"Perhaps," the Spartan grimaced as the energy sword slipped further toward his visor, "but it's not for you."

Matthias knocked the sword away with a punch, and threw the grenade to one of his men, who tagged a strafing Banshee. He spun then, landing a kick which cracked the Elite's combat harness and sent him stumbling.

"Impressive." Barely winded, the commando extended his arm; three lightning blue diamonds flared to life, forming a layered shield.

"I try." With movement invisible to the naked eye, Matthias dismantled the hammer, using the handle to parry another blow.

_"He tries so hard to protect his family."_

Again, he knocked the Commando's energy sword to the side, throwing him back with a hit to the edge of his gauntlet shield.

"Why is it that you risk your own life to save theirs? They are beneath you, pawns to be spent, for victory." The Elite slashed with the edged of his shield, thrusting with his blade. Matthias bought his makeshift staff to his chest, narrowly saving himself from simultaneous decapitation and dismemberment.

"You could never understand. You treasure your sword more than the lives of your brothers." A kick met a punch, buying the Spartan time enough to grasp a rod at his hip, twin prongs flaring to life as he swung out. "A tool is just that, nothing more or less."

_"What Family? Who has he got left? Who have any of us have left?"_

"You speak, vermin, as though you and your kind have a right to live." Sparks danced on the air, shimmering blue.

"You race is proud and noble, Elite, but hatred has made you blind. You murder in good faith, assured that your loyalty will be rewarded. You will find no salvation on your Great Journey; only cold finality." The ground shook, a beam of liquid amethyst burning the ground beneath an overhead cruiser.

Matthias checked the tactical command console on his heads up display unit; a blue wireframe model of a Spartan clad in SPI armour appeared, then flashed red. A counter materialized, an x followed by a three and two zeroes. He had lost three hundred men in a single blast.

He raised one arm, ready to guard while he lunged with the other, but the commando seemed somehow distracted.

* * *

"_Righteous Fury_, I have not authorized the use of energy projectors." Shipmaster Sesa 'Hara 'Xanthtuumee opened a private channel to the ship overhead. His men were well trained, and loyal beyond reckoning. Even the lowliest of his Grunts would not use such a weapon in jest or error, as those contemptible Jiralhanae barbarians were prone to doing. Something was wrong.

"The Brutes, Shipmaster, they have bought the parasite here!" The reply came through, not alarmed, but surprised.

"The abomination? Surely brother, even they could not be that foolish?"

"Alas, Shipmaster, it is true! Those fools use it as a payload for their boarding craft, no matter the risk to themselves."

'Xanthtuumee gave a disgusted snort, his voice an octave lower than was normal. "Have any of our fleet been compromised, brother?"

"Yes, Shipmaster. _Rose of Veracity_ fell not moments ago. Those who were able to resist the scourge have ridden to ground in their insertion pods. Those that were left behind activated the self destruct. You must move quickly, Shipmaster. Even as you fight, the parasite has you in its grip."

Above them, boarding craft began to flock, some targeting bulbous capital ships, others ignoring these in favor of the more accessible prey below. Each of the lilac jellyfish spiraled awkwardly toward the ground, full reverse, with such force that they buried themselves to the very rim of the exit tubes. Infection forms gushed forth from each, almost a liquid stream of corrupted flesh and bone, chirping as they rushed to sate their hunger.

* * *

Matthias G-257 knew what was going to happen as soon as he saw the spores. Tiny yellow organisms, streaming behind the covenant boarding ships. He had only ever seen them once before. Part of a training simulation that Colonel Ackerson had generated based upon footage retrieved from the neural interface of one Wallace A. Jenkins. The flood, when given sufficient biomass to convert, produced spores which indirectly assimilated host organisms. His entire squad had managed to survive the seemingly endless tide of infection forms which first assailed them, only to be gradually subdued by the dancing lights, which were not as innocuous as they appeared.

They took longer to kill, but that didn't make them any less of a danger than the infection forms themselves. Though, unlike infection forms, they did not produce combat forms. Instead, they decomposed their still-living, but now helpless prey, rearranging them into an immobile mass of cancerous flesh, within which the more aggressive infection forms would develop.

Yes, Matthias knew about the flood, and he refused to let any one of his men become a vessel for the horror. Not as long as he had life left in him.

"Calypso 03, do you have NOVA online?"

A moment, one that seemed an eternity, passed before Calypso 03, otherwise known as Fran G-730, responded. "Yessir, detonation countdown set. Retreating to exfiltration craft now."

"Good. All units, primary objective is complete; abort secondary objectives. Disengage, and retreat to exfiltration craft immediately. I am hereby instating Infestation Protocol 2-B."

"The Flood, here?" Fran shuddered, static interspersing her breaths. Silence lingered for a few moments. Then, a new icon appeared on Matthias's HUD, showing that Team Calypso had activated the broad area dispersion attachment on their Hard Sound Rifles. A tactic that Matthias himself had developed; as long as the weapons had power, any of the more delicate flood forms would be destroyed the instant they came within five meters of the user.

"Correct. Activate chameleon shields, and proceed directly to exfiltration craft. Do not allow infection forms to come in contact with you. Do anything you can to prevent the spread of infection. As a precaution, Loki has activated the incineration mechanism within your armour. If you become infected, then you will be destroyed."

Again, there was silence. Fran replied, less nervous now than she had sounded before. "Thank you, sir." Though she would never admit it, Fran knew that Matthias had ordered the failsafe activated out of compassion. She had no want of death, but given a choice between it and infection, to die was the better alternative.

Matthias threw the Commando one final glance. Glass spread from his torso, consuming first his body and then his limbs, until only his visor remained, a Cheshire cat smile. Then it too went, and he was nothing but a memory.

* * *

'Xanthtuumee deactivated his energy sword and placed it at his hip, then reared back, twin plasma rifles in hand. Any respect, the little he had once had for the Brutes, was gone. They were slime, of a variety that even the parasite could not compare to. He scanned the darkness, blasting anything that could be a possible threat. Loyalists, parasites, humans… of the three, only the latter deserved true respect. They may be an enemy, one of many, but they were far stronger than they appeared at first glance. Their hidden ability, their true potential, was what made them so admirable.

The human was gone, a ghost in the night. A wise decision, he was forced to admit. It would be better if, for now at least, they focused on the flood.

"Shipmaster, the humans are retreating."

"Ignore them. Concentrate all fire on the Brute ships. Burn, until they burn no more. Destroyers, prevent contact with boarding craft at all costs. The parasite must be contained."

Above him, the sky became a spinning vortex of fire, clouds stained lilac by a ceaseless volley of plasma blasts. Even the atmosphere could not withstand the barrage, smoldering away until only thin ribbons remained. Aurora crackled through the ionised air, arcing from one shred of torn sky to the next.

Leaf litter squelched behind 'Xanthtuumee. He turned; seven of his Elites stood in an arc, gazing at him in an almost curious manner. No. That was not right. They were not his. Not anymore. Their heads hung flaccid, mottled flesh swollen almost beyond recognition, hooked feelers jutting from their wrists.

"So, my brothers; you have fallen." With a series of fluid movements, 'Xanthtuumee cut each of the combat forms with his blade. They remained whole for just a moment, before falling apart. "Allow me to absolve you."

* * *

Second only to shipmaster Sesa 'Hara 'Xanthtuumee, Kekwa 'Uharamee kept the destroyer _Righteous Fury_ steady amidst a barrage of plasma torpedos.

"Ignorant beasts. All power to energy projectors. Target primary conduit node." Holoscreens dimmed across the bridge, then shone purple. The flagship of the brute fleet, _Ravaging Dedication_ came to a stop as power to its engine was cut. Explosions tore from the midsection to the rear, before the entire ship disappeared in a plasma storm.

Beneath it, the surface of the planet flared gold. 'Uharamee considered burning the humans as they hid within their shields, but thought better of it. He would not disrespect his orders; they would be spared, for now. He threw a glance towards the luminary that stood, enshrined, in the exact centre of the bridge. The humans were represented, as always, by hundreds of luminations. Tiny glyphs, each with a different shape and meaning. For the humans, there had always been just one. Abomination. But now there were far too many. There had been just over a thousand humans when this battle had started, but now there were over thirty thousand, skittering in all directions, even aboard the flood boarding craft.

But there could be no humans there, only the abomination itself. Distracted, 'Uharamee ordered a torpedo barrage against a cluster of retreating cruisers, then laid his hands upon the luminary. It was a sin, but so too was the civil war, and the prophets had been the ones who ignited the conflict. It was odd that such a glyph should be used to represent both the humans and the flood, considering that they were such dissimilar creatures. With a subtle movement of his finger, 'Uharamee compared the glyphs, and found that they were not as they had been to begin with. One had been tampered with.

The luminary faded, and for a moment 'Uharamee thought he had damaged it. Then, the display changed, a new glyph appeared, representing six hundred and ninety-three of the contacts. Reclamation. No; Reclaimer. In a single, eternal, second, everything changed for Kekwa 'Uharamee.

"Of all the lies of the Prophets…" He opened a channel to his Shipmaster, even as a Brute frigate tried to ram _Righteous Fury_, a desperate final act. "Shipmaster, the luminary. You must see this, all of this. It... no, we have been wrong, shipmaster, all this time. The humans; they are Reclaimers. They are-" The connection was broken.

* * *

A literal flood of infection forms washed over 'Xanthtuumee, wave after endless wave. It had taken only a moment of distraction, and now, the abomination had him.

"No. I will not be shamed. Not now, not ever." Struggling, he pulled a plasma grenade from a storage unit and activated it, unconcerned that it chose to fuse to his torso with an electronic click. That was the plan, after all. A high beep, then blue. Everything so blue. His ribs shattered, but his harness held, and his shield. Just. A final two infection forms jumped at him; the first popped, noxious juice spraying into the air. His shield was gone, an alarm sounding within his helmet. The second creature latched onto his chest, tearing into his flesh with sharp probes. Two sought the same hole, then three, rotating, widening the entrance. At the same time it drew itself in, wrapping a foul tentacle around his spine.

He grabbed at it, just catching its body. He applied pressure, even as it began to slide out of his grip. It disappeared. No. He could feel it inside of him, shuddering in delight. Nothing came. As his mind welcomed oblivion, 'Xanthtuumee saw a crystal figure appear before him. A ghost with an orange smile. He felt hands around his torso.

With every ounce of strength he could garner, the commando spoke, his mandibles only just moving beneath his helmet. "If I must take your hand to escape this plague, then so be it."

And then he was bound to a firm board, so much like his own military-issue bunk that he could not help but sleep.

* * *

Matthias saw light. Not the pallid sunlight of his dreams, but true, fluorescent light. Light, for the first time in seventeen relived years. He was flat on his back, held there by solid titanium bands. He was comfortable, even with catheters in his veins, his limbs padded by something without texture. He opened his eyes, fully; a circle sat at the bottom left of his vision, a full blue bar at the top. MJOLNIR.

A tiny blue figure sat on a totem beside him. "We have each other." Loki turned, smiling, no defiance in him. "And that's all we've ever had."

The Spartan cocked his head, pressure building in his skull. An ODST stood beside him, armour covered in Brute blood, new helmet replacing the old. A young woman crouched next to him, move her lips, turned away, almost, then looked back at him. But that wasn't who he was watching.

Lord Terrence Hood spun to face Matthias, hands behind his back. Before he could stop himself, Matthias rose, tore the bolts from his restraints, and saluted. Lord Hood smiled, his teeth almost brown compared to his crisp white dressage. For a moment, Matthias saw the whiteness of a jungle planet being vaporised. Then, he was himself again.

"Welcome back, son.

* * *

My mind presents...

**Journey of an Apostle**

A _Halo_ story

Written by Kieren P. McGovern (AKA Untractable Evocation, or Loki, or Fedaykin Guard).

With thanks to Corey W. Smith (Cylor), The Phiend, and Shawn L. Phillips for their help.

The Halo universe and all characters depicted therein, apart from those of my own creation, are the intellectual property of Bungie Studios, with special license to Microsoft. The (original) characters and situations depicted within this fanfiction are MY intellectual property, and use of these characters without my expressed permission will result in serious action.


End file.
